


Come See About Me

by BethNoir



Series: A Revised Legacy [1]
Category: A Legacy of Spies, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Polari, mild homophobia themes, school party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 06:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15791046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNoir/pseuds/BethNoir
Summary: Thursgood's is having their end of term staff party. Someone notices a reluctant attendee sat by the wall.





	Come See About Me

**Author's Note:**

> I hated ‘A Legacy of Spies’ and I am firmly in the camp of Jim Prideaux deserved better, so this is my Fix-It. Andrew looks like Luke Evans in ‘High Rise’. Deirdre looks like Lucy Davis. Setting is the late 1970s.
> 
> I've been promising kinder stories for Jim so thank you for your patience. There might be a second part.

Andrew had promised he would learn the layout of his sister’s school, but for the third visit in a row, found himself lost in an unidentifiable car park. After a few laps around the property singing along to “Strutter” on Radio 2, he’d given up, parked the car and decided to find the entrance on foot. Instead he spent several minutes walking around with platters of Tesco catering and his gloves in his pocket. He’d passed a caravan parked in a dip and it looked like it was being swallowed by the earth. If he strained to listen, there was the sound of music coming from somewhere, but it was darkness and cold all round him. A twig snapped. A torch snapped on.

“Can I help you?” called a voice. Andrew squinted in the light.

“I’m looking for the staff party! I’m Deirdre’s brother?”

“Deirdre?”

“Deirdre Holliday.”

“Is that Andrew?”

“Aye!”

“You knob! You’re in the wrong spot!” Scarborough, the night guard, wandered over with a laugh and Andrew greeted him with a smile and a handshake. Scarborough was a nice enough fellow who did his job well, but he was an insufferable Tory who seized every opportunity to whinge to a sympathetic ear about how blockbusting was a legitimate real estate practice, or how today’s young men were going soft and turning fruity on them. Meanwhile he’d gone out of his way to avoid his service in the war for some ailment that cleared up when V-E Day was declared. But he got Andrew to the right building and they stepped out of the cold and into Thursgood’s end of term party.

By some oversight in the administration, the staff had wrangled the gymnasium for their party and pulled out the same decorations for the end of term shindig for the children. Austerity and all that, but the liquor was free flowing and no-one was around to tell them to turn the music down. Except for whoever yelled at fourth year maths to stop trying to sing along to “Layla”.

“Look who’s turned up!” The first to greet Andrew was Lindsay Goode, the arts teacher as she helped herself to a sandwich and gave Andrew a peck on the cheek. Her henna red hair and lavender eye make-up was officially out of fashion and only made her look older than her thirty two years.

“Got lost looking for parking. You won’t tell herself, will you?”

“Not a word. Where’s Helena?”

“Better half’s got the flu so she’s in for the night.” Andrew answered convincingly enough as he slid the trays onto the table.

“Ah, that’s a pity. Give her my best, will you?” Lindsay replied almost as convincingly towards her unrequited.

“Aye. Where’s your man?”

“Total bastard. We’re never to speak of him again.”

“Right-o.”

"Here he is!” As far as sisters went, Deirdre was a love. She was settling into early middle age as well as a regular smoker could manage. Her blonde beehive and streaky tan worked in university, but her penchant for paisley dresses and salad cream on sandwiches was making her look like a tea cozy. They fought like cats and dogs all their lives, but when Andrew needed to get out of Lambeth, she was on the first train to London, asked no questions, and had him set up in town by the evening. It was a wonder the SIS hadn’t recruited her, unless they were like any other organization that prided obedience over competency.

"You can put the biscuits over here. Did you park in the north lot again?” asked Deirdre.

“I did no such thing. I was having a smoke.” Andrew insisted.

“In this weather? You’re mental. Marge! You can put that over by the bins. The caretaker can bring it round in the morning.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just leave it. Go have a good time! Look, he’s by himself.” And Deirdre continued on their march down the food line to avoid persuading her friend to talk to the gym coach. Andrew said hello to this person and that person and the rest whose names he’d only remember at the end of the night and when most had gone home.

“Well I thought the school had gone non-smoking because all the parents fussed about the health reasons.”

“Uh huh. I thought Helena was coming.” Deirdre inquired as she poured punch for the two of them.

“Maureen’s got the flu. She didn’t want to leave her home alone in case it turns into pneumonia,” Andrew explained.

“Oh, I’ll bet it’s just a chill. Helena’s always fussing over her.”

“Why can’t I find a man like that?”

“Your words to God’s ears! May we both have such luck!” They toasted with punch and knocked back the vodka infusion. “Why can’t I be a lezza?” Deirdre moaned. Andrew arched an eyebrow.

“Talk like that around Helena and you’ll never see her again.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Then say what you mean instead of being rude.” Andrew knew she didn’t _mean_ it, mean it, and she probably wanted to fuss about how he was being so cruel to her when she’d swept in to save him from Lambeth, but he did not want to fight about it. “That’s often the last thing enough young queer ladies hear before they get their heads cracked open or worse. Helena knows you love her, but honestly you know better.”

“I know.”

“Christ, if you managed walking in on me in your waspie and stockings when I was twelve, you can manage a slight shift in language.”

“I said I know! Honestly!” Deirdre finished her drink. “Should have burned that waspie.”

“Should have given it to me.”

“Well, I would have if I knew where it went.”

“I have never stolen your clothes, ever, and I resent the implication,” Andrew smirked, the two back on solid ground.

“Well, since neither of us can fit into them anymore, the least you can do is return them. Are they in any of those boxes in your flat?” Deirdre asked. Andrew put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

“Sister dearest, if I find them, they are yours.”

“They _are_ mine. That’s why I want them back.”

“Of course, but we have a more pressing matter. Who is that?” Andrew asked. Deirdre furrowed her brow, having only caught half the inquiry over the music.

“What?”

“The sad dish by the wall. What’s his story?”

“Jim?” Deirdre was used to routine questioning about possible dates when Andrew turned up, but wasn’t sure if she was more surprised Andrew was asking about him, or that Jim hadn’t scarpered into the night. “Jim Prideaux?” Andrew didn’t correct her, so she indulged him. “Sweet old thing. Been widowed a few years. Wife died in a car accident and it banged up his back pretty bad. Doesn’t talk about it much. Does French for the first years.”

“Wife, eh?”

”Think that’s not the case or hoping to bring one to the fold?”

“I think he’s already a member.”

“Go on.”

“I believe it.”

“Tenner says you can’t get him off the wall. Shyest person I ever met.”

“In that case, my BT account thanks you for paying this month’s bill.” He drained the last of his glass. “Why’ve you left him abandoned over yonder?”

“Well, I mean I’d join him, but he won’t leave the wall and I’d be sitting there with him all night.”

“Done it once before?”

“Last year. Said he’s gone off Christmas parties, but still turns up anyhow.”

“He _is_ lonely. Vital information. Thank you, love.”

“Well, on your head may it be if you get your head bashed in when you make your move,” Deirdre drawled. Andrew put a hand over his chest and feigned shock.

“Sister, dearest! You’ve got a cold heart for the holidays. Where’s all that Christmas cheer you’re supposed to be administering?”

“I’ve dished out the last of my reserves for the second years and I am re-supplying with drink.”

A drum beat started and kicked into a familiar electric guitar. The two grinned and began jumping in tune with the music. All the young teachers, nostalgic for their steadily depleting youth, screamed with delight and bounced to the dance floor as Diana Ross sang “I’ve been crying, cause I’m lonely (for you)”. Regardless of one’s musical tastes, the Motown bop could penetrate the most sober of spirits. Even the old physics professor, who had been two years shy of enlisting in the Great War, took careful arthritic steps out to the dance floor to shake his shoulders and sing, “come see about me.”

Lindsay bounced over to dance with Andrew, in the traditional attempt to get him to notice her, but he was loyal to his fictional female partner and when he wouldn’t dance closer to her, she smiled and spun away. Deirdre was taken away by the maths teacher who hadn’t let up on her, but they would pretend nothing had happened by start of term. Nobody would notice if Andrew shook his shoulders and hips a little harder than usual. Glam rock had given way to disco and his arrangement with Helena had diverted most prying questions. But he couldn’t help his eyes wandering over to the sad old bloke along the wall.

Jim was a large fellow; not fat, but like stone that had gone soft all over in a way from the passing of time. What remained of his hair stuck stubbornly to the sides while the top conceded defeat, but his eyebrows were as thick and black as ever. He did something to stay fit since he looked put together for his age, but there was the puff of drink around his eyes. The jumper and trousers he wore were probably the same he’d picked off the floor that morning or worn earlier in the week for exams. He wasn’t the sort to make a fuss over appearances, but despite his attempt to appear unbecoming in every possible way, the man was naturally, dreadfully handsome. And what a sin that he was cursed with shyness and loneliness. Big fellows usually were. They either ran terribly arrogant or painfully shy, but Andrew had learned to look for the lonely ones. Bachelors chat up wives and students. Queens flock together or stand alone. Maybe Deirdre was right and he would go home with a bloody nose. Only one way to find out.

The teachers all young and old alike perfumed the air with Avon and Brut, as their lacquered hair and polyester threads swung around like incense burners. Long hours and cheap liquor had them lost in the working class bacchanal, and nobody noticed as Andrew worked his way through the crowd with a swing of his hips. Good Yorkshire boys learned how to hide that away and quick if they wanted to make it through school. A swing of the hips in a room full of hetties was akin to unfurling a train of peacock feathers on a ballroom floor, but Andrew was feeling bold. Even though Jim was looking at the floor, Andrew felt like he was staring right at him.

“All right?” Jim looked up, expression unreadable. He nodded and looked away, but Andrew invited himself to sit next to him, and hold out his hand.

“Andrew.”

“Jim.” They shook. Firm, but still disinterested handshake.

“Come here often?” Jim raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and that was all. Oh bugger. In his shyness and bold effort to sit next to the strong, silent type, Andrew hadn’t thought of what to talk about. No school teacher wanted to talk about their subject off hours, there was scarcely anything worth discussing about Taunton, and he doubted either wanted to share what had brought them to Thursgood’s in the first place.

“You’re Dierdre’s brother?” Jim asked.

“Aye. She’s mentioned me?” Andrew asked. Jim nodded.

“Said you were a barman in Lambeth?” Of all things to be his salvation in conversation, it was Dierdre’s inability to make him seem interesting.

“I told her to say I was very important at the Old Vic,” Andrew seethed with some dramatic sarcasm to try and make him smile. “And here she is fannying about instead of helping me look impressive. Give us a hand. Is it just me or does she resemble a tea cozy in that zigzag knit?” To Andrew’s surprise, Jim gave him a disapproving look.

“I like your sister.”

“Do you? That’s sweet.”

“Comes round to mark papers sometimes. Good woman.”

“Well, I let the tea cozy bit slip once over Christmas and I’ve never heard the end of it. No wonder she’s out here throwing my business around like rice at a wedding. You got any sisters?”

“No, just me.”

“You’re better off. Takes thirty years to finally get along instead of screaming at each other, and even when she’s making a fool of me I still pop round for Sunday roast. Go on, what else has she said about me?”

“Said you just moved to the area. Mentioned a Helena?”

“It’s complicated, but yeah. Been here a few months.”

“All right so far?”

“Doing all right I suppose. Needed a change.” Jim didn’t reply. Andrew pressed on. “Worth sticking around or should I shuffle elsewhere?” He didn’t intend to put a double meaning in there, but Jim gave no sign he’d caught on.

“All depends on what you’re looking for,” said Jim. Maybe he had caught on.

“Could be I found it,” said Andrew.

“Oh? What’s your pleasure?” asked Jim. “There’s a barber on the High Street who can do something about that mop of yours.”

”I thought I looked rather sporty. Is it too much?” Andrew turned his head this way and that, only slightly concerned Jim found him unattractive.

”I take it Helena likes the shag?” Jim asked. “Should make up your mind about the soup strainer. Might be better to grow it out."

“Well, for one thing, beards aren’t quite my style. Find it gets uncomfortable.” Andrew rubbed his jaw to suggest he meant it literally, but the way Jim was looking at him suggested he understood it meant more than a downgrade to mustache and mutton chops. And perhaps he wasn’t quite ready for someone to be so forward, but Andrew only knew one direction. He scratched at his hair and leaned in.

”Is it that bad?” he asked, and had completely forgotten to turn off the charm. They were at a school function for his very patient sister. If he got crowned in front of all her mates who were the type to dance to lavender music and recoil from the real thing, on his head may it be. But God Almighty, Jim just had the loveliest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“No, it suits you…” Jim murmured.

Diana Ross gave way to Frankie Valli as nostalgia ruled the record player. And Jim couldn’t take his eyes off him. Andrew leaned on his knees and lowered his voice.

“So I’m still new to the area and while I know there won’t be as much going on as London, you wouldn’t happen to know a good place for a proper drink, would you?” Andrew had to tread carefully here, but Jim had caught on to the rest. “It’s lovely seeing everyone, but only so long I can keep the naff polane at bay.” He gave Jim a long fixed look to make sure he understood. “Know anywhere quiet?” And though he should have seen it coming, Andrew was still surprised to see Jim close in on himself. His face scarcely moved a muscle but the light went out of his eyes and Jim looked away again.

“Sorry. Can’t help you.” Oh that hit him in the guts harder than he expected. Andrew smiled to recover.

“Well, listen to me carrying on when there’s a punch bowl to deplete.” He stood up. “Can I top you off?”

“All right. Thanks.” Jim did not offer up his empty glass. Andrew had his answer, but suddenly felt very reckless. He leaned over, a bit too close, but just enough to help the old man’s hearing, and make his point.

“Whoever he was,” Andrew said with a kindness, but it still made Jim startle, “he should have deserved it, but you were still right to give it.” He rolled back on his heels, waving his empty cup. “The world needs kind people. We are in short supply.” Jim just stared at him. Andrew braced himself for the fist. But then he smiled. Softly, shyly, but grateful.

“What are you having?” Jim asked.

“I think at some point there was vodka in here, but it’s mostly Rise and Shine now,” Andrew said. Jim stood up with a little stiffness, and Andrew tried not to look too excited the man was just a touch taller than him and all broad shouldered.

“I might have a bottle of Relsky in the caravan,” Jim offered.

“Oh brilliant! Let’s be off!”

Deirdre detached herself from the maths teacher for air and turned in time to see her brother and Jim wandering to the exits. Andrew gestured they were going to go smoke, but it conveniently passed as him flipping her off.

As they traipsed off to the Dip, Andrew asked if Jim was married to the caravan, and if so, no it wasn’t any bother, but he should look at a flat given that back of his, and he lived in a lovely spot near the High Street and he should come around sometime if he liked to give it a look and did Jim have anything planned that evening because if not, they could just grab the vodka and he could come round right now.

Jim couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.


End file.
